Indiscretions
by SnowboundRabbit
Summary: Ciel finds himself thrust into a new investigation...just as a strange and embarrassing problem at home conspires to make his daily life very, very awkward.


**Indiscretions**

**Chapter 1**

The world slid into focus very suddenly, and, sitting up in his seat, Ciel Phantomhive wondered whether he'd nearly fallen asleep.

It was a thought that made the boy go very straight in his chair, cheeks slightly flushed, and run his one uncovered eye up and down the length of the room before him. This was his study, he reminded himself crisply, chalking up the fact that he had to devote a moment to thinking it to the daze he'd put himself into. But that was certainly where he was – the chess set on the table not far away, the bookshelves on the distant wall, and the desk immediately to his front, which he'd come so close to drooling on, were all intimately familiar.

Except – and Ciel stumbled onto this thought with the same surprise that he had bolted back to clarity with - it was awfully dark, wasn't it? All those furnishings that he'd been looking over a moment ago had shadows hanging over them, just light enough for them to be seen. Turning his chair to look towards the windows, the young earl found that the curtains were wide open…but the sun that should have been pouring in was gone. His mansion's gardens were spread out in front of him, instead, draped heavily by night, just like the room. When had it gotten so late? Not that it was any concern of his, he supposed, if he'd slept through the afternoon. It was odd that his butler Sebastian hadn't roused him, but the rest was hardly a problem.

Still, leaning an elbow on the surface of his desk, the little lord found himself on edge. Was it just the disorientation of waking? That might have been the problem; his head still felt light, like his eyes were not quite focused. But, no…that wasn't all of it. That wasn't even the main thing, he realized, and the thought that struck him then made him cringe away from the windows, back into his chair. It was the _dark_, the dim, shaded state all around him, that had him clutching his hands to his chest. It made everything larger and foreign-seeming, made the stretch of carpet off to the room's door look miles long, and the realization that this was [i]frightening[/i] set his cheeks burning. The anxiety knotting up his stomach was ridiculous! He'd crept through London after nightfall, on the tail of murderers, before, and now he'd picked up a fear of the dark in the course of one nap?

"S-Sebastian…!"

Good Lord, he was stammering like a child. It was cowardly, Ciel knew, but there it was. He was stammering and cold, and the space all around him seemed to be getting darker and darker…

And he needed the toilet. Needed it badly, actually – his legs, covered in the soft slacks that he wore, pressed together in the space beneath his desk as soon as he noticed the almost painful pressure at his waist. When that brought little relief, a furtive glance turned to the door, before his palms pressed between his legs. Oh, he knew that the only sensible thing to do was to get up and head to the bathroom. It was only down the hall, easily in reach. It was just that…

He could hardly make out the doorframe, now, a looming, black gap off on the far wall. No, he couldn't bear to make a dash for it – just the thought made him tremble harder than he'd thought possible, and that tremble made the straining in his bladder worse, and then his forehead was resting on his desk, tears in his eyes, because he knew what the only other option was. Humiliating, infantile…but better than pacing those terrifying steps off to the commode.

Ciel struggled not to think of what Sebastian would say when – what _anyone _would say _if_ – he found out what he was about to do, even as he scrunched forward in his chair, lifted his hands out from between his thin legs, and let go. With his eyes closed tight, he could feel the cloth at his crotch getting soaked by the shameful stream he was making all the more clearly. Almost as soon as he had started, that wetness was flooding down to his rear. Then, it was pooling beneath him, making a mess of the leather of the chair, and then it was rushing down one leg, heading for his delicate socks and, finally, the floor. The boy could feel tears streaking his cheeks before he'd even finished up.

"Young master?"

A voice from the hallway sent his back racing straight once more. Those familiar words – was that Sebastian?

"Young master, have you fallen asleep?"

No, no, not Sebastian. This was a different voice, one Ciel found he didn't know. It was lilting, melodic, high and playful where Sebastian's was always so smooth and decorous. Why was a stranger in his manor, calling to him like that?

Off by the door, Ciel saw a flash of blond hair hanging loose and a brief flicker of pallid skin. It was for just a second – then the blood in his head and behind his eyes seemed to run wild. His head swam, and he tumbled back in his chair. As the world faded around him, he was aware of only two things, the foul-smelling puddle he'd made beneath himself and the last few dancing words that the stranger said, coming from right above his head, this time:

"Oh, dear, young master, you've gotten all wet again, haven't you?"

-----------

"Young master…"

Ciel rolled over, tossing a slim shoulder out of reach of the hand that was shaking it. When that gloved grip reached after him, he tossed himself the rest of the way onto his stomach and let out a tired huff.

"Young master, it _is _earlier than your usual rising time, but I have to insist. If the bed isn't cleaned promptly, this mattress will be ruined."

"Ehh? Sebastian, what are you…-"

The boy flopped back onto his back and forced his eyes to part, dainty hands rubbing the sleep out of them as he listened to those words. His brain was still fogged with images that he couldn't quite remember…and so it wasn't until Sebastian's long arms slid to either side of him and helped him to sit up that he felt it: the bed was damp. Not damp with the unsightly sweat of a hot night, either – even in this position, with the top-covers and sheets still clinging to his skin, Ciel could tell that he'd turned the bedclothes into a veritable swamp. Shifting his thighs together, he thought he felt a puddle still soaking between them, and, along his back, he could tell that the wetness had streamed up to the lower part of his night-shirt, making it stick heavily to his hips. Beyond that, everything was cold, slick, and disgustingly smelly, covered with the too-stale scent of a child's nursery long overdue for a cleaning.

The earl was still trying to flounder his way through these sensations to some conclusion other than the obvious – he _couldn't _have wet the bed, couldn't have done something so patently immature – when Sebastian began to pull the covers from him, folding them into a neat but sodden pile.

"I should apologize, my lord," the demon tsked. Shaking his head back and forth, he was close, so close to being the perfect picture of detached reserve. If one didn't squint, it was easy to think that the thin smile on his face was simply a show of tact, politic even in the face of such a mess. But Ciel knew his butler's expressions well enough to spot the upward twitch that the corners of his mouth made whenever he palmed another drenched blanket on top of the last.

"I didn't think that serving coffee with dessert last night would cause you such trouble. I'll begin restricting the menu to tea and milk…or would you rather I remind you to use the toilet before bed, from now on?"

It was all the more mocking because Ciel was sure that the whole act, every lift in Sebastian's grin and every grating intonation of his so-smooth voice, was intentional. Hefting himself up further, he gritted his teeth together, almost grinding them, as he worked to ignore that question.

"I don't see how…" he muttered, only to feel his cheeks flush so hot that he fumbled over the next few words. But that just offered another answer, one that he thought was much more sensible. Wrapping his words in a snippish tone, he looked upwards and finished: "I must be sick. Sebastian, check my temperature for me."

"Of course, my lord."

The hand that settled down against his brow seemed only as hot as he remembered the demon's touch, and it came with a coolly taunting smile, as if to say that the out that Ciel was looking for was not to be found down this particular avenue.

"You don't feel feverish. But you've been lying in a cold bed for some time, now – let me check again, after you've washed."

"Fine. I'll just – ah!"

Ciel gave a surprised gasp when he was pulled into the air, mid-sentence. The strong arm that had been resting its hand against his face had slid around to his back, while Sebastian's other had come up beneath his knees, and now he was being cradled in his butler's arms, bridal-style. It was a familiar enough position for him – much to his annoyance – but now, with his legs still dripping wet, it couldn't help but strike a new, embarrassing chord for him. Folding his arms across his chest, he let out a weak hmph, while he was carted across the bedroom.

"I can walk to the bathroom _myself_."

"Ah? I can't imagine why I doubted that. Still, we'll keep the carpet from staining, like this."

The butler didn't loosen his grip, and now they were out in the hallway, strolling along the well-lit corridors. Sebastian's pace was lazy, and Ciel found himself cringing at each corner they passed. Any one of them could have had one of his other servants standing behind it…Mei-lin bringing by the wash, Finnian running in to announce some disaster in the garden…and this early, in this position, there'd be no doubt about what had happened.

"Hurry up! I could have gotten there already, on my own!"

"My apologies, my lord."

"Just go faster!"

Complaints aside, they turned into the mansion's master washroom soon enough, and Ciel was settled down in front of its sink and mirror. Deft hands, hot even through the smooth cloth that covered them, drifted to the hem of his night-shirt and pulled it over his head. His underclothes were slid away in the opposite direction with similar ease…though the way Sebastian dangled the stained things between two fingers made the earl want to lean in and strike him. As if a creature like him didn't handle things a million times more disgusting in the course of a year, and there he was holding them like they were toxic…

"I'll retrieve an outfit for the day and dispense with these soiled clothes, while the bath runs warm. Is there anything in particular you'd like me to bring?"

The dark-haired youth just stood sulking, stubbornly silent, while Sebastian manipulated the taps on the tub and closed the drain, so that the milk-white basin began to fill. He couldn't say that his silence seemed to irk the demon…his butler's decorous cheer didn't flicker when his question went unanswered...but keeping stonily hushed made _him_ feel better, at least.

"Alright. The blue suit that Ms. Hopkins had tailored for you the week before should suit today's business. I'll have it ready for when you've finished washing, and…"

"Sebastian."

Now, it was Ciel's turn to interrupt, though he did it with hot cheeks and his mismatched eyes down at the corner of the tub. The request he had to make now was an awkward one, a small admission of his helplessness and uncertainty in this situation…but he phrased it crisply, like an order:

"It would be ugly if the other servants saw this kind of thing. Make sure they don't."

"Mei-lin has already been told that I'll be handling the wash for the day. She'll be helping Bard prepare your luncheon meal."

"Mm." The boy merely murmured approval, as he stepped into the bath and felt the water, lukewarm now, pool around his feet. That fluid, at least, was clean and clear, without that sickly, oily feel that was spread down his front, now.

"Ah – there's one other thing that does need your attention this morning."

Sebastian, who had looked ready to abandon the room for the moment, paused suddenly at the doorway and turned back around. The arm that was not busy cradling his master's wet wardrobe ducked into his suit-coat…and then Ciel found an envelope being offered to him, its bone-colored paper not wrinkled in the slightest. Standing there, the bath now ankle-deep around him, he turned the thick material so that his eye fell not on the broad expanses of its front (all blank, without the slightest sign of an address) but on the folds of its reverse. In particular, it was the drawn to the dried wax pressed across the center, holding the letter shut and showing a print of a regal figure enthroned beside two maids-in-waiting.

The queen's seal – a morning like this, and he was finding himself in the bath, looking at a letter from Queen Victoria herself. If the crimson in his cheeks had died out at all, before, it came rushing back, just then.

"I thought the young master would want to have a look at that as soon as possible. I'll leave you to it, while I attend to your wardrobe."

The bathroom door snapped gently shut, and the earl was left alone in the room. With his skin still glistening wet and his head still throbbing with a mix of stress and frustration and half-forgotten dreams, he leaned against the wall behind him and dragged his thumb beneath the seam of the envelope. The note inside slid easily from its confines, once the seal had been broken.

"Earl Phantomhive," Ciel murmured aloud, beginning to read. "Owing to the success of your past endeavors in our service and the end of the London murders that they have recently secured, we wish to lay another task before your considerable, deductive powers…"

It was an awfully hard business, he found, to read such praise with a straight face while waiting to wash the piss from one's legs.


End file.
